Page 5 of Highland Seduction

Nay, nay, nay, nay.

“I will do it instead,” Royce said.

Tor thought of his brother’s demons, different from his own but more pertinent at this particular moment, and immediately spoke up. “Nay, he will no’.” He took a deep breath, trying one last time. “I beg ye, my king—”

“I am yer king,” he bellowed, unappeased. “And have made my decree. I care no’ which of ye steps forward, but ye will do so. Now.”

Tor rushed past his brother and stood before his angry liege.

“A shame to come to yer wedding day as such,” the king said, referring to Tor’s face, blood still dripping from an open wound on his cheek.

Just then, the king leaned over to his advisor. They spoke for a moment as Tor attempted to ignore his brother’s knuckles jabbing into his back. As the king and his man spoke, Tor could not help but marvel at the silence that now reigned. Music had given way to shouts and then sickening sounds of fists hitting flesh. The king’s words had reminded him of his face, and Tor tried to ignore the throbbing pain as he followed the king’s gaze to the opposite side of the hall where he’d been standing. The priest, a vaguely familiar-looking man, joined the king.

Nay, please God, be merciful and do not do this to me.

Chapter 4

“Bring her here.”

“Nay!” Ainsley’s voice surely wasn’t her own. Did she just scream at the king? She did. And by his expression, Ainsley was sure she’d no’ have to worry about marrying a MacRob. Surely King Alexander would run her through first. He certainly seemed as if he would.

“Nay,” she said more calmly as the king’s guards came to her. “Dinnae touch me,” she spat, though not loud enough for the king to hear. A gasp next to her told Ainsley she tread on dangerous territory, but she did not care. Let them take her. Imprison her. Beat her. It mattered not. Naught could be worse than being married to a MacRob. And not just any MacRob but one that looked like . . . him. How could she possibly ignore such a man?

“Fetch her brother,” the king bellowed.

Ainsley froze. It was Broden’s wedding night. One he deserved. And by the king’s expression, her brother would do little to change the outcome of events that had taken place this night.

They’d been warned. And now, she would pay for the fool who began this fight.

“Please, nay” she said, rushing forward. “He will no’ get back this eve. ’Tis his one and only wedding night.” Steeling herself, knowing there was no changing course now, she said, “I will do as ye bid, Yer Grace.”

She stood next to him. The MacRob looked at her strangely.

“Why do ye stare at me so?” she asked, mindful they were being watched by the king. By everyone. But Ainsley was unable to control her tongue. Fear and disbelief rushed through her, along with an awareness that her life was, in this moment, over.

“Ye raise yer voice against yer king in one moment, and then turn docile in the very next one?”

Bruised as he was, he should be repulsive. There was more blood on him than even the man he’d beaten, whose face Ainsley had seen clearly as they took him from the hall. And yet, somehow, he was not. But his tone? Ainsley liked it not at all.

“Surely there is no need to rush another marriage,” she mocked. “And yet, here ye stand as well with hardly a fight against such a deed.”

“I would spare my brother,” he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear him.

“As would I.” Ainsley raised her chin.

“’Tis a shame ye’ve no’ a better temperament to go along with yer lovely visage.”

Her damned heart skipped a beat. “’Tis a shame ye’ve neither to recommend ye.”

“Enough,” the king bellowed. “Come forward, both of ye. It will be done now,” he said as Father Godfrey stepped before them.

Ainsley’s head whipped to the back of the hall. Despite that she’d stopped the king from fetching her brother, she wildly thought he may appear anyway. He did not, of course. None would dare disobey the king’s orders. She caught Hilda’s eyes, and then Giric’s. Both confirmed what Ainsley already knew.

This was no jest. The king would marry her to the MacRob second, and he would do it now. Ainsley had imagined her wedding day many, many times. Her brother had been more lenient than most, allowing her a choice when she should have had none after what had happened with her sister. The relief she’d felt at being given a stay when more than one man had come to Castle Shaw to ask for her hand in marriage . . . it mattered not. Any one of those men would have been preferable to this.

“On the morrow,” the king addressed the MacRob laird, “ye will meet with Laird Shaw to discuss the terms. And so help me, if ye cannae come to an agreement by the midday meal, I would see another couple wed.”

Another couple. Did he really mean to do this thing? Who would be next? Surely not Rhona?